


Serenade In Blue

by softlyforgotten



Series: Ghostlight [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Like, The Young Veins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon makes Ryan stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenade In Blue

Ryan put on a burst of speed, racing between the last scattered school buildings and past the freshmen playing with a hackeysack and into the tree line just beyond. He swerved sharply to the right to avoid Jon's vile attempt to cheat by knocking Ryan over, and flung himself gracelessly into the softest and best chair, _his_ chair.

"I win!" he declared with the little breath he had left, and then Jon toppled over on top of him and knocked said remaining breath right out of him.

"Ooof," Jon said, while Ryan wheezed pointedly beneath him. Jon seemed in no hurry to move, so Ryan started to apply elbows where necessary, until Jon yelped and jumped up.

Ryan glared at him. "I _win_ ," he repeated.

"You cheated at the beginning," Jon said, standing up and going to sit in one of the other chairs. Ryan gaped at him in horror.

"I did _not_ ," he said.

Jon stared at him. "You said, 'tag, you're it' and took off while I was talking to Bill," he pointed out.

"It's not my fault your reflexes suck," Ryan said.

" _You_ suck," Jon countered, and Ryan laughed. Jon grinned at him and said, "Why'd we have to run away like that, anyway?"

"You don't get enough exercise," Ryan said. "I'm concerned about your health."

The good thing about Jon was that he accepted things readily enough most of the time, in a way that Jon called "trusting" and Alex called "gullible as fuck". Just then, he laughed and stretched idly, and Ryan sank back into his seat, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. In about five minutes, he thought, the others would get there, and then Ryan could steal Alex's guitar and spend lunch thinking about nothing in particular.

It was a good plan, and Ryan enjoyed it for the thirty seconds he had before Z leaned over the back of his chair and said, "You look really funny when you run, did you know?"

"You didn't fall over this time!" Charlotte said, coming up behind Z with Tennessee and giving Ryan two thumbs up. "Getting better, Ross."

"Also Jon played along," Tennessee added, while Z climbed over the back of Ryan's chair and landed heavily in his lap. "Which added credibility to the overall effort, we thought. In conclusion, we gave you a six point five."

Z dug around in her pocket and unfolded a white square of paper that had **6.5** printed neatly in the middle. She held it up and turned it slowly from side to side. Jon applauded politely.

Ryan stared at them. "I don't look funny when I run," he said finally.

"Tennessee," Charlotte said, and Tennessee nodded, running around the group in a slow circle and flailing her arms wildly out at her side, kicking up her heels with each step. Z laughed so hard she had to bury her face in Ryan's shoulder, and Charlotte flopped into a nearby chair to avoid falling over.

"Oh!" Alex said, arriving behind them. He beamed hugely and pointed at Tennessee. "You're doing Ross!"

"I should be so lucky," Tennessee said, stopping to leer at him.

Ryan stared blankly back at her, and Z looked up crossly. "Hey," she said.

Tennessee blinked at her. "Z," she said kindly. "You're _sitting in his lap_. You really want to have this argument now?"

Z cocked her head to the side. "C'mere," she said, and then Tennesseecame and sat on Ryan as well, because apparently that was something they did now, and he glared at them both.

"You don't even go to our school," he told Tennessee. "Why are you here all the time?"

Charlotte grinned. "She's an exchange student," she said, waggling her eyebrows.

"Ja," Tennessee agreed, with an appalling accent, and Charlotte and Z fell about laughing again.

"Tenn," Charlotte said, "did you miss the bit where you already have an accent," and then Alex and Jon started laughing, too, and Ryan was still being squashed, and all of his friends and also his life _sucked_. Z was curling a lock of Tennessee's hair absently around her finger and when Ryan turned his head he saw Eric and Michael heading towards them, both with expressions of malicious delight.

Ryan sighed. He looked up and Z was watching him, half-smiling.

"I really looked funny?" he asked quietly, thinking about Brendon calling his name, Ryan's heart jumping in his throat as he pretended he hadn't heard and seized on Jon as the closest excuse nearby, the stupid, prickly feeling in his chest that he should be over now, should have been over years ago.

Z leaned forward and pushed his hair out of his face. "You looked alright," she said, and Ryan swallowed hard, nodded.

\---

Ryan's history class made him feel sick every time he thought about going to it, which was a bit of a problem. It was an interesting class and he was good at it and he had it three times a week anyway, there was no avoiding it. He shuffled in, clutching his books and letting Alex guide them to the back. A quick sweep of the classroom meant he was safe for the next few minutes, so he nodded and tried to pay attention to Alex chattering about the show next week that was over eighteens, and whether or not they could sneak in.

"I can make fake IDs!" Alex said. Normally Ryan would remind him of the last time he'd tried to use one of Alex's homemade IDs, when he and Z had been laughed out of the bar, but it was his history class, so he concentrated on staring at his books and flipping open a notebook to a new page.

Ryan heard Brendon when he was still halfway down the hall, laughing and talking loudly to a friend: Shane, because Spencer was home sick with the flu. Ryan clenched his hand into a fist, stomach swooping, and watched his skin turn white as his nails dug in. Brendon was still laughing when he walked in the door, and Ryan didn't have to look up to know that Shane was by his side. Brendon was probably hanging off Shane, an arm around his neck or clutching at his wrist. Shane had a girlfriend, but Brendon had no sense of personal space, and oh, fuck, Ryan wanted Brendon to touch him like that so much, to touch him at all, he was buzzing and miserable with it.

"Hey," Brendon said suddenly, and Ryan wished the rest of the class would quiet down a bit, so that he could spy creepily on Brendon's conversations with more ease. "Hey, uh," Brendon was saying, and Ryan flipped through his textbook, looking for a page to keep himself from looking up, being obvious.

Then Brendon said, too loud, "Oh-h _darling_!" and it took Ryan the next line to realise that Brendon was singing, the rest of the class sniggering and laughing as Brendon continued, "Please be _-lieve_ me!"

Ryan hid his phone under the desk with shaking hands, texted Z: _he's doing it again._

Z replied almost immediately. _what, being perfect?_

Ryan scowled, slipping his phone away without replying. Ms Harris walked in and said, "Brendon Urie, _sit down_ ," and then, "Okay, guys, look this way."

Ryan looked up just as Brendon sat down and craned his head over his shoulder to peer at Ryan, eyes dark and anxious, biting his lip. Ryan looked away so quickly he thought he might have permanently injured his neck, but it was worth it to keep himself from staring at Brendon's mouth, trying not to think about biting Brendon's lip himself, licking it and holding Brendon as close as he could get.

Z was a bitch, Ryan thought miserably, who took far too much pleasure in Ryan's pain, and he wouldn't dignify her text with a response. But also: yeah, sort of.

\---

He went and got his bike from the rack after school without stopping to talk to his friends that afternoon. Spencer had been sending him increasingly irate texts all afternoon, and Ryan had promised. He pushed his hat firmly down onto his head to keep it from falling off when he went downhill, and rode straight to Spencer's place, taking the shortcut across the railway tracks. It was a nice day, the sky clear, a sweet breeze, and Ryan was glad he'd taken his bike, moving smoothly across the landscape.

Ginger met him at the door, rolling her eyes. "Thank God you're here," she said, bending to give him a quick hug. Ryan smiled at her. "He's been awful," Ginger told him. "I'm this close to shipping him off to a military academy, really."

"Low pain tolerance," Ryan said wisely. "It's because you've known me for so long, you've forgotten not everyone can show stoic patience in the face of pain."

Ginger raised her eyebrows. "I saw you with chickenpox, don't forget," she said.

"I was five!" Ryan protested, and Ginger laughed and waved him up the stairs.

Spencer was sitting up in his bed, arms folded and scowling at the door. "You stopped and talked to my mom," he said reprovingly.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "For, like, thirty seconds."

"Still," Spencer said, flopping backwards. "I'm so _bored_. Being sick sucks."

"I brought you my history notes," Ryan said, digging around in his bag.

"That's the worst present ever," Spencer said.

"Also Milk Duds," Ryan said, still rummaging through his bag. "And Twizzlers. And the crappiest zombie movies I could find in the bargain bin at Target."

Spencer eyed him suspiciously. "For real?"

Ryan pulled out the plastic bag with his collection and dumped it on Spencer's lap, raising an eyebrow. "Well?" he said.

"Alright," Spencer said, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile. "I forgive you for talking to my mom."

"I don't think that's the way it goes," Ryan said, climbing up and making himself comfortable on the bed next to Spencer. "I think what you're trying to say is, oh, thank you, Ryan, best of all best friends, for being so kind to me even though I'm a grumpy little shit—"

"I will cough all over you, wait and see," Spencer said darkly.

Ryan laughed. "How are you feeling, anyway?"

"Okay," Spencer said. He looked pale and kind of tired, and Ryan wasn't sure if he was going to believe Spencer. Spencer smiled crookedly up at him, though, like he knew what Ryan was thinking, and added, "It doesn't feel like I'm hacking up my lungs anymore, anyway. Mostly I'm just tired. I wanted to go to school anyway, but Mom's being kind of bossy."

"You'd just end up making yourself sicker," Ryan said, bumping his shoulder lightly against Spencer's.

"Probably," Spencer agreed ruefully. "That's why I'm listening to her about not going back. I don't want to be sick for my birthday, that would suck."

"It's not your birthday," Ryan said. "Your birthday isn't for another month."

"Party, whatever," Spencer said. "Having them early is the fashion now."

"Really." Ryan didn't bother turning into a question, giving Spencer an incredulous look.

"Well, no," Spencer admitted, grinning. "But like I'm not going to take advantage of having the house to myself this weekend. It's going to be awesome. I've been so _bored_."

"The eight million messages you've sent in the past forty-eight hours kind of tipped me off," Ryan agreed.

Spencer shrugged, unrepentant. "I was trying to reach out to civilisation," he explained.

"And civilisation found you," Brendon said, and Ryan froze. Brendon took a step further inside the doorway, smiling a little awkwardly. "Hi," he said. "Um, Ginger sent me up."

"Hey," Spencer said cheerfully. "Did you bring presents too?"

"I brought my history notes?" Brendon offered.

Spencer laughed. "Ryan brought me his," he said. "And I bet you his are kind of readable and don't turn into terrifying insights into your stream of consciousness."

"Probably," Brendon said. He pushed his hand through his hair, looking unsure. "Hi, Ryan," he said, voice soft, and Ryan nodded jerkily at him.

"We're talking about my birthday party," Spencer said, apparently unconcerned by Ryan suddenly turning into a stupid block of wood by his side. Ryan didn't know where to look. He wanted to stare at Brendon, but Brendon was darting little nervous looks at him – probably Brendon thought Ryan was a creepy serial killer or something, that would be just Ryan's luck – and he wouldn't be able to get away with it. He settled for staring at his feet on top of Spencer's comforter.

"Oh, yeah?" Brendon came into the room properly, setting his bag down and sitting in the chair at Spencer's desk. He looked at Ryan and cocked his head to the side. "Isn't it your birthday soon, too?"

Ryan shrugged, and promptly wanted to die. Spencer cast him an exasperated look and said, "Yeah, the 30th. We were going to have a joint party, but apparently Ryan's friends are too cool for them."

"They're not," Ryan said, because this was an old argument, never mind if Spencer was just doing it to wind him up. "They're not, it's just they already planned something else for me this year, I don't know—"

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer said, but he was smiling in the way that meant Ryan wasn't in real trouble. He looked back at Brendon and said, "Anyway, Ryan's lucky my mom isn't going to be here for the party, or she'd totally make everyone sing happy birthday to him as well."

Ryan didn't say anything, just watched out of the corner of his eye as Brendon laughed, tilting his head back, the line of his throat. " _They say it's your birthday_ ," Brendon sang, " _we're gonna have a good time_ —"

"I have to go," Ryan said, sliding off the bed and standing up quickly. Spencer was giving him a disappointed look, so Ryan tried his best not to look like either of them, in case he somehow managed to make himself feel worse. He'd apologise to Spencer later, find a way to explain it without saying _I have a bit of trouble not doing stupid things when Brendon sings_.

"Come back tomorrow?" Spencer said, and Ryan nodded, resolving to somehow check that Brendon wasn't going there first.

"Bye, then," Ryan said, raising a hand and not turning to look properly at either of them.

Behind him, quietly, Brendon half-said, half-sang, "I would like you to dance." Ryan hightailed it out of there.

\---

"I don't see why we have to go to this stupid place," Ryan said, slouching as low in his seat as he could. Z widened her eyes at him, surprised and innocent. He didn't buy it for a moment.

"This place has the best milkshakes," Tennessee said, finishing her drink and sticking her straw in Z's. Z didn't even try to bat her away. Ryan noted it so he could make some comments about her being whipped the next time Z started annoying him. "Man, the wait was worth it."

Ryan blinked at her. "What wait?"

Tennessee and Z exchanged that weird, half-guilty, half-delighted glance that occurred all too frequently. "Uh," Tenn said, unconvincingly. "Charlotte used to write to me about them. When I was in England."

"They are the best," Z said. "I like it here."

She smiled sunnily at Ryan, and Ryan slumped further down, darting another glance to the counter, where Brendon was chatting animatedly to another customer. Normally Ryan could avoid it when Z decided she wanted to go to this place for lunch, but somehow he'd been forced into it today. His only small comfort was that he'd refused to go up to the counter to order and pay for their drinks, and had waited for Brendon to go out the back for a moment before he darted into a booth hidden away from the counter. Possibly Brendon didn't even know he was here.

"Ryan," Tennessee said, sounding a little confused, and Ryan looked back at her quickly.

"What?" he said. Z giggled.

"Alex's thing," she said. "On Saturday night. Are you going?"

"It's Spencer's party," Ryan said.

"Oh, right," Tennessee said.

"You want company?" Z asked, and Ryan smiled slightly at her, bumping his ankle against hers under the table. Z wasn't close friends with Spencer or any of his group, and most likely she'd end up feeling out of place. Ryan appreciated the sentiment, though.

"No, thanks," he said. Tennessee made a slurping sound as she finished up the last of Z's milkshake, and Ryan breathed out in relief. "Can we go now?"

"Yeah, let's," Z said, gathering up her notebook and her bag from the floor. "I want to go down to the music store around the block, Charlotte said that they've got a vinyl copy of Patti Smith, I've been looking for ages—"

"Right," Ryan said, and slid out, hiding behind Tennessee and Z as they walked quickly for the doorway. He breathed out too soon, though.

"Bye, Ryan," Brendon said. Ryan whirled around and caught a brief glimpse of Brendon's smiling, tentative face before he fell over, landing hard on the cold floor. Brendon blinked at him. "Wow," he said. "Are you okay?"

Behind Ryan's back, Tennessee and Z were in hysterics, clinging onto each other and flipping through Z's notebook quickly. Ryan glared at them and tried to pick himself up with dignity, only he had a feeling that there wasn't enough of it in the world to get him through this particular encounter.

"Fine," he said. "I think someone spilled water or something."

"Right," Brendon said, nodding. "We'll get someone to clean it up. Sorry."

"No, it's," Ryan said, and drew in a breath. He gave Brendon a tight smile and then turned and walked away, straight past Z and Tennessee until he could hide around the corner and thump his head rhythmically against the wall.

A moment later, Tennessee and Z appeared, holding Z's notebook open in front of them. In Z's scrawled handwriting, it said **2.3**.

"Better luck next time," Z said, straight-faced.

Ryan wanted to _die_.

\---

Spencer's party was low-key and friendly, and Ryan drifted from group to group, enjoying himself more than he had expected. He even managed to keep out of Brendon's way, mostly because Brendon was usually the centre of attention in every room he was in, standing on bits of furniture and shouting or dancing or something, so it was easy to steer clear of him.

"You're being kind of mean," Spencer said, when Ryan interrupted him mid-sentence to lead him carefully back into the kitchen upon Brendon's entrance into the room.

"I don't know what you mean," Ryan said. "Maybe you're still feverish."

Spencer sighed, leaned back against the table next to him. "Yeah, you do," he said. He looked at Ryan and said, "He thinks you hate him." Ryan didn't say anything. Spencer's mouth twisted down. "Ryan."

"Well, he's wrong," Ryan said. "I just. I don't care. I don't—"

"You suck at lying," Spencer said, and Ryan turned and looked at him unhappily. Spencer sighed. "Okay."

"Good," Ryan said, but he still felt tight and miserable, could feel his face wanting to crumple even through his forced smile. "I'm going to go get some fresh air," he said, and Spencer touched his shoulder, light and soft.

"Okay," Spencer repeated, and Ryan turned and wound his way through the people, out of the house, into the backyard. Spencer's dog trotted up and Ryan got to his knees to pat him properly, dragging him along the back porch until they could tuck themselves away in a corner. Nobody else was out there, and it was quiet and nice, safe.

Bobo put his head in Ryan's lap and Ryan scratched behind his ears, hummed something quiet and rusty to himself, the song Z used to play on repeat that had somehow wormed its way into his bloodstream. Bobo sat quietly, a heavy, smelly, comforting weight, and Ryan bent his head to press his face against Bobo's fur for a moment. Spencer would have called him gross, but Spencer wasn't here, and the steady rise and fall of Bobo's body was good, even with Ryan's legs slowly going numb under the dog's weight.

He was humming the harmonica part when the screen door scraped shut behind him and he looked around, heart rabbiting in his chest.

"Is that Ryan Adams?" Brendon asked, blinking at him in the dark. His guitar was slung around his back, and in the dim light Ryan could only just make out his features. "The song?"

"D'you _like_ sneaking up on me or something?" Ryan asked, startled enough to say something properly for once, and Brendon laughed quietly, shuffling closer in the dark.

"I like that song," he said. "I heard – I was by the door and I heard – I just wanted to see."

Ryan nodded. "Okay."

"Can I sit here?" Brendon asked, and Ryan shrugged. He'd tested Spencer's patience enough for a night; saying _no_ would only get him yelled at. Brendon probably wouldn't be able to see Ryan's trembling fingers, his pink cheeks, not in the dark. It would be alright. Ryan would just have to be careful not to say anything stupid, which meant not saying anything at all. He could do that.

Brendon sat on the steps of the porch, off to the side so that Ryan had to turn around to see him properly. He didn't turn around, but he watched out of the corner of his eye as best he could as Brendon handled his guitar carefully, pulling it around onto his lap.

"Sorry?" Ryan said, realising Brendon had spoken.

"Not enjoying yourself?" Brendon repeated.

"Oh, no," Ryan said. "No, it's fun. It's just – crowded, I wanted some cool air."

"Right," Brendon said. "To sit out in the dark and hum maudlin songs to yourself."

Ryan clenched his fingers in Bobo's fur. "I wasn't," he began stiffly.

"Hey, I was kidding," Brendon said. He pulled something out of his pocket, said, "It's a capo on fifth, right?"

"What?" Ryan said, blinking, and then Brendon started playing, the quiet, soft strum that had been stuck in Ryan's head all night, like he'd pulled it carefully out of Ryan's thought patterns, set it up against the dark sky.

He closed his eyes when Brendon sang, swallowing hard, listened and wished that Brendon was singing any other song in the world, because all this one did was make Ryan want to touch him, want to crawl up and curl his fingers in Brendon's sleeve, touch his hair, press his mouth against Brendon's and taste him. He couldn't do that, though, and it would be better, Ryan thought, if he could just get up and leave, could walk away, never mind courtesy or Spencer or the way Brendon's face would fall, the way he always seemed surprised and newly hurt by anything anyone ever did to him, even Ryan. It would be better, but Ryan didn't do it. He sat and listened instead.

Brendon seemed kind of sad, anyway, quiet and low. His voice sounded thick sometimes, and he whispered rather than sang, "but God, I'm praying."

Ryan kept his eyes closed, and hummed the harmonica solo.

\---

On Mondays, Ryan didn't have his history class, and the band didn't practice, and there were no assemblies or games. In general, it was an awesome day wherein the only time he had to worry about Brendon Urie was when he caught a glimpse of him around the corner and had to hide for a while or head in the opposite direction, so Ryan really didn't appreciate Brendon interrupting the status quo by waiting outside Ryan's Chem class for him. Chem was already horrific enough.

"Um," Ryan said. Jon patted him on the head and set off. Ryan kind of wished that Jon wasn't so cheerfully oblivious after all; he'd take a bit more mockery if it meant that Jon would be kind enough to get him out of this, and Jon probably would be.

"Hi," Brendon said. He was holding a piece of paper in his hands, fiddling with it. "How are you?"

"Um," Ryan said again. "Good."

"Cool," Brendon said. He held the piece of paper out, and Ryan took it almost by accident. He didn't look at it, though, couldn't stop staring at Brendon. "It's a flyer for this acoustic show I'm playing," Brendon explained. "Thursday evening, down at the Blue Moon Café? You come to all the band practices, I just, I thought you might be interested."

"I come to the practices for Spencer," Ryan said automatically.

Brendon's smile faltered for a moment, but he drew in a breath and pasted it back on. "Sure, okay," he said. "But, I mean. I'm not bad, you know. It's just a bit of fun, and you don't need to pay anything to get in. And the coffee there's really good."

"Maybe," Ryan said.

"Well, alright," Brendon said. He hesitated, then said, "You could bring Z if you wanted. I mean, the more the merrier, right?"

Ryan's heart sank, but he drew himself up taller anyway. "Z has a girlfriend," he said coldly.

"I know!" Brendon smiled. "Tennessee, I've talked to her once or twice. She's really nice." Ryan stared at him, aghast. Brendon blinked and then said, "Anyway, it's just if you want to come, no pressure."

"Right," Ryan said, and Brendon turned and walked away, leaving Ryan clutching the flyer behind him. He wondered if it would be too uncool to stick it in his journal or something.

\---

Z blinked at him. "You know this is one of your crazier theories, right?" she said. "Ryan, I mean. I danced with him _once_. Mostly we just talked about—"

"It doesn't matter!" Ryan said, throwing his hands in the air. "Now he wants a creepy threesome with you and Tennessee! And he's using _me_ to get to you!" He made a pitiful noise and flopped backward onto Z's bed, staring mournfully up at the ceiling. "I hate my life."

"Maybe if you would just pull your head out of your ass," Z said, and Ryan groaned and flung his arm over his eyes, hiding from view, "things wouldn't be so bad. You have to admit you're a bit of a bitch to him."

"I'm not a bitch to anyone," Ryan said, peering out at her from under his arm.

"You're a whiny little bitch, Ryan Ross," she said, "and everyone knows it."

Ryan sighed. "It's alright for you," he said. "You've already got a hot girlfriend, and now Brendon Urie wants into your pants as well."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what he was doing in waiting for you and specifically asking you to come to his acoustic show," Z said dryly. "Really, Ryan, I think you should go. I know it's against your aforementioned whiny little bitch instincts, but—"

"Oh, no, I'm going," Ryan said, staring at her. "Why wouldn't I go?"

"Huh," Z said. She looked pleased, smiling at him with a warmth in her eyes that always made Ryan smile back at her, helpless. "Well. I'm glad. That's braver of you, at least."

"Why's it brave?" Ryan asked.

"Showing your face, I don't know," she said.

"Oh," Ryan said. "No, don't worry, we're not doing _that_." He sat up grandly. "I have a plan."

\---

"This is the coolest thing we've ever done," Z said, adjusted her mask, eyes dancing behind it. "I mean, really. We're so fucking cool."

"I know, right?" Ryan was feeling a little bit smug. It was seriously a brilliant idea, though, and they both looked awesome. Ryan tried not to think about that part too much, though, because they were already running half an hour late so that they could stop and take a bunch of photos of themselves pretending to climb in Z's bedroom and steal all her worldly possessions.

"We would make such awesome thieves," Z said. "I mean it, seriously. We could have a whole career."

"You know what we should do?" Ryan said. "We should be, like, highwaymen. Hold up a train somewhere. I bet you could do it, too, you put on a mask, you're in the middle of nowhere, pick somewhere where there's not any cell phone reception—"

"Yeah!" Z said, beaming at him. "Fuck it, that's what I'm putting on my career counselling form thing. Intended Career: Highwayman."

"Part of a team," Ryan said. "Like Bonnie and Clyde, only, you know, without the getting caught bit."

"Best ever," Z said, linking her arm through his, and Ryan grinned at her. They walked the final two blocks to the Blue Moon Café quickly and quietly, taking darting little steps and then pressing themselves up against walls, peering around for potential targets. Z even procured a hand mirror from her bag so that they could look around corners before they went around them, and by the time they got to where Brendon had started his show, Ryan wasn't even feeling particularly dizzy. Mildly nauseous, sure, but he could deal with that.

They slipped in the doorway quietly. The place was about three quarters full, which Ryan thought was pretty good for a high school kid's show, especially considering he only recognised about half of the audience as students or Brendon and Spencer's friends.

They were just finding seats up the back when Brendon cut off in the middle of his song to start laughing, and Ryan looked up at him in surprise. "I'm sorry," Brendon said, into the microphone. "Sorry, okay, but – Ryan, are you dressed up?"

Ryan froze in place. Z was looking a little affronted, but Ryan guessed that was more because of a potential insult to their costumes than it was because of the mortifying situation that Ryan was in.

Brendon raised one eyebrow, smiling big and warm, and Ryan's heart pounded miserably in his chest. He couldn't think of anything to say, but Brendon just grinned at him and shook his head, said, "Alright, the show must go on!" He picked up where he had left off easily, and Ryan slunk his way to a spare seat, not meeting anybody's eye.

After the burst of scattered applause at the end of his song, Brendon said, "When I was a kid, man, I used to steal the Harlequin romances from my big sister's room and read all those ones about the dashing and dangerous criminal coming in and stealing the heroine away, you know? And then they fall in love, obviously. Those books totally fucked my head up about sex, when I was eight, I had no idea what it entailed beyond, like, bodices ripping and things." He smiled crookedly and said, "Anyway, this song is called 'Unchained Melody' and, uh, I didn't write it."

Ryan stared at him, mouth open slightly, trying to work out what was going on.

"Hey," Z said, leaning over to nudge him. "Isn't this that movie about the prisoner?"

Ryan turned to look at her. Z smiled confidentially.

"I'm pretty sure someone dies at the end," she said. "Horribly. It was awesome."

\---

Ryan had a feeling that Z was turning into a high school cliché, and told her so. Z punched him in the arm hard, and Ryan winced, settling into the stands and holding his hot dog out of reach.

"That just proves my point," he said. "First prom, then school football games, and now you're bullying the sensitive individual kids."

"I told Z that school spirit didn't suit her," Charlotte agreed, looking coolly uninterested. "This is the weirdest thing we've ever done." Down on the school pitch below, some guy with a ball ran to some other guy, and Jon and Charlotte jumped to their feet, screaming themselves hoarse. Charlotte was going slightly red in the face, shaking her fist. Ryan wondered whether spilling his Pepsi in her lap would be too pointed.

It probably was, he thought. Ryan was a master of subtlety, and thus wouldn't do it. He wasn't at all afraid of Charlotte's wrath. He was a _highwayman_.

"Tennessee wanted to see," Z said, shrugging, and Ryan looked to see Tennessee on Z's other side. She was leaning forward, arms resting on her knees, surveying the game below them with a curious, perplexed expression, like they were lab rats up to something particularly ingenious.

"I feel like I'm going to be sick," Ryan announced, standing up. "I'm going to go down so I can do so pointedly, by the cheerleaders."

Z grinned up at him. "You mean you're going for a walk?"

"Yeah," Ryan said, and Z stood up, giving her popcorn to Tennessee.

"I'll come with," she said. "Back in a minute, Tenn," and Tennessee smiled up at her, eyes bright; as Ryan watched, Z shivered for a moment and leaned down, their mouths brushing soft and careful, Z curling her fingers in Tennessee's sleeve. Ryan went to tell her to hurry up, but ended up closing his mouth without saying anything. Tennessee was whispering something to Z, and Ryan didn't mind waiting, not when Z's face looked like that.

They walked down through the rows of seats, having a loud and grumpy conversation that made other kids glare at them about the amount of money that must have gone into this, how many new instruments the school could have bought with it. Then they walked along the bleachers, half toward the cheerleaders, mostly because Ryan just wanted to see if they were as terrifyingly cheerful close-up as they'd been from the other side of the pitch.

"You know Pete Wentz is dating one of the cheerleaders?" Z said, and Ryan stared at her in horror.

"No," he said, but Z nodded. "Fuck, that's a tragedy." He'd had a massive crush on Pete when he was a freshman, for the whole year before Brendon came to the school.

"She's actually pretty cool," Z said. "I have art with her. I think Pete thinks she, like, created the universe or something. But they're pretty weird. You know she stole that pregnant belly strap on thing from the Science Department and they took turns wearing it around school for a whole day?"

Ryan laughed despite himself. "And she's a _cheerleader_?"

"Yup," Z said.

"Okay, I want to see," Ryan decided.

"She's not wearing it _now_ ," Z said, but took his elbow and led him along the grass, winding in and around the bleachers, mostly ignoring the cheers of the crowd and the movement on the pitch. "There," Z said eventually, and pointed to where a group of kids were sitting around.

Ryan drew closer warily. He was all ready to have Z whisper in his ear, scout it out, and then head back to steal some of Jon's Twizzlers, but then someone jumped up, and Ryan was too close, yet again, couldn't retreat, stuck staring in the force of Brendon Urie's smile.

"Ashlee, hey," Brendon said, not looking away from Ryan, "lend me your pompoms for a moment?"

A redheaded girl leaned up and offered them to Brendon, and Brendon turned bright red, breathed in sharply and launched into perhaps the most enthusiastic rendition of Avril Lavigne Ryan had ever heard.

"Oh my God," Z said in an undertone.

"I can't _believe_ him," Ryan said, voice shaking.

Brendon did a little shimmy, turning his face to the sky and bellowing, "Hell, yes, I'm the motherfucking princess!" and Ryan was embarrassed for him and angry and enraptured all at once. On the grass around him, Brendon's friends were laughing, contributing back up vocals or handclaps, and Spencer was watching Ryan intently.

"I don't like your girlfriend," Brendon sang, and he actually _winked_ at Ryan, and Z was standing frozen beside him.

"Okay, wait," Ryan said, and somehow managed to launch himself forward, stumbling across the grass and grabbing Brendon's elbow. Brendon stopped immediately, watching Ryan with bright eyes, and Ryan said, "Fuck, um. Can I talk to you for a minute? Privately?"

"Yeah," Brendon breathed, and dropped the pompoms. "Yeah, just – behind the bleachers there?"

"Classy," Spencer said from behind Brendon, and Ryan ignored him, dropping Brendon's elbow and setting off to walk underneath the bleachers and behind them, where it was cool and dark and out of sight of most of the students. When he turned around, Brendon was smiling nervously, corner of his mouth tilted up in this stupid, hopeful way. Goddamnit, Ryan still wanted to kiss him, even now.

Instead he folded his arms. "You've got to stop," he said.

Brendon's face fell. "Oh," he said, voice quiet and sad. "Sorry, I didn't. It wasn't meant to make you uncomfortable or—"

"It's not about me," Ryan said, flapping a hand. "It's just – whatever kinky porn you've been watching, it doesn't _work_ that way. I don't think Tennessee's even _into_ guys, she's definitely not going to be into you worming your way in on her and her girlfriend!"

Brendon stared at him, the unhappiness in his expression making way for confusion. "What?"

"And Z," Ryan continued, "I don't know if you've noticed, if you care so much about her, but she's totally in love with Tennessee, they're all _stupid_ about each other. And it's just mean and pointless for you to keep – to keep hitting on them like this, alright? They're nice, and they haven't worked it out yet or whatever, but I'm telling you now: they're not interested."

Brendon frowned. "Neither am I," he said.

"I mean it," Ryan told him, glaring. "I'll send Charlotte after you, and you really don't want that."

"Ryan," Brendon said. "I don't. I'm not interested in Z. Or Tennessee."

Ryan stopped, tilted his head to the side. "Then what was with you asking me to ask her to come to your show?" he said, wrinkling his nose. "And dancing with her at prom? And singing 'Girlfriend' at her?"

Brendon blinked at him. "You're kidding, right?" he said slowly. "I mean. There's no way you're this dumb."

Ryan glared at him. "I think I can tell when someone's trying to seduce someone," he said.

"I really don't think you can," Brendon said. Ryan opened his mouth, and Brendon took two quick steps forward and kissed him. Ryan didn't even have the presence of mind or time to close his eyes, but Brendon didn't break away, eyelashes dark against his cheeks, tilting his head to the side and kissing Ryan soft and warm. Ryan's heart _hurt_ , it was beating so hard.

Brendon sighed and took a step backward. "Alright," he said, not meeting Ryan's eyes. "I thought – I guessed, and Z and Spencer – but it's, anyway—"

"Guessed what?" Ryan said. His voice was too rough for such a small kiss, and he could feel himself flushing.

"That you liked me," Brendon said. He darted a glance up at Ryan, a tiny, not very happy smile tilting his mouth. "I mean, I thought that maybe that was why you were so mean. But if you just – it's cool, anyway, whatever, lots of people don't like me."

"How?" Ryan asked, voice very small.

"How what?"

"Do they not like you," Ryan said, and turned away slightly, more embarrassed than he'd ever been in his life. "I mean," he mumbled, "it's just that – I don't understand what's not, what they wouldn't like, wouldn't – wouldn't want—"

Brendon was back in his space again, face still pink but determined, too. "You're going to have to work with me this time," he said, voice low, "you're kind of confusing," and then he rocked forward and this time Ryan was ready, sort of. He gasped, clutching at Brendon, and pulled him in closer. Brendon licked into his mouth and Ryan ran his hands up Brendon's back, feeling the rise of his shoulders when Brendon leaned in close and kissed him so warm, so real; skimmed his hands back down Brendon's spine, stopping just shy of his ass, even though, God, Ryan wanted to slide his hands into Brendon's back pockets, wanted to pull him so close that there wasn't any room between them, wanted to bite at Brendon's mouth and push him down on the grass and crawl on top of him, make Brendon only his, just for Ryan, make it so that Brendon could never leave.

Brendon had his hands on Ryan's hips, holding him there firm and tight, and he walked Ryan backwards until Ryan's back was pressed up against a metal pole. Ryan bit at Brendon's bottom lip and wound his arms around Brendon's neck, and Brendon gasped a laugh before he kissed Ryan again, deep and hot, tongue curling around Ryan's. Goddamn, but Ryan wanted to taste the back of Brendon's teeth, wanted to get rid of Brendon's shirt and touch warm, bare skin, let his teeth drag over Brendon's nipple, wanted to know what noises Brendon would make, what noises Ryan could make Brendon make.

"Ryan," Brendon murmured, breaking away, and Ryan caught his mouth again, kissed him hard and bruising before he moved slightly, bit at Brendon's jawline, mouthed down Brendon's neck. Brendon tilted his head back and groaned and Ryan felt greedy and hungry and furious and joyous, and he wanted to say, _look, look where you are, I have you here, you are right here_ , and he didn't, he kissed Brendon again instead, because he wanted to take off Brendon's clothes and rut against him with no finesse or talent, he wanted to taste every stupid inch of Brendon, but he didn't quite know how he was going to force himself away from Brendon's mouth to do that in the first place.

"Ryan," Brendon said again.

"Yes," Ryan breathed, "yes, yes," and Brendon was running his hands through Ryan's hair, tugging at the knots, "yes," Ryan said, and rubbed their noses together, making Brendon laugh breathlessly, but Ryan didn't laugh, he said, "yes."

\---

Z was waiting for him by the lockers the next morning. She made huge eyes at him across the hallway and Ryan hurried to reach her before she called something embarrassing over all the people between them.

" _Well_ ," she said when he got there, and Ryan couldn't help smiling. His mouth wasn't swollen anymore, he knew, it was impossible, but he found himself rubbing the back of his hand against it anyway, wanting to call up the buzz of last night again. "Tell all, Ross."

"I don't – we made out," Ryan said, and he knew he was smiling uncontrollably, looked stupid, but he couldn't help it. "I don't even know, we just – for hours, and then the game was over and nearly everyone was gone and Mr Jameson came and told us off for lingering or whatever, and then I went on my bike and he went in his car and that was it."

Z laughed. " _That was it_ ," she echoed mockingly, "like making out with the dude you've only been pathetically in love with for a million years is no big deal—"

"I don't know," Ryan said, that horrible, anxious feeling squirming in his stomach again, like it had all last night, when he'd been lying awake torn between unmitigated happiness and dread for the next day. "We didn't talk about anything – I don't know if maybe he just thought I was hot or something—"

"Looks like you're about to find out," Z said, and Ryan turned around, and stopped in his tracks, bag sliding to the floor. Brendon was walking towards him, dark eyes fixed on Ryan, and Ryan didn't know what to _do_.

"What do I say," he hissed. "What am I supposed to say—"

"How about, look, last night was fun, do you want to marry me and adopt a million beautiful babies," Z said, low, and Ryan wanted to thump her, but he couldn't, Brendon was too close.

He didn't know what to _say_.

"Hi," he said, only it came out weird and kind of mangled, the most demented 'hi' in the whole world, and Brendon didn't smile, looked utterly serious. Ryan's heart sank.

"Hello," Brendon said, and pushed Ryan up against the lockers to kiss him.

Something brilliant and golden was glowing in Ryan's chest. He slid his hands into Brendon's back pockets and kissed him back, although not very well, because he was smiling too hard to manage anything particularly impressive. Brendon broke away, but not very far, forehead tilted against Ryan's.

"That was cool," Ryan whispered, and promptly wanted to turn away and hide, but Brendon didn't let him.

"People are watching," Brendon said, and Ryan knew, could feel the eyes on him and hear the murmurs and catcalls and laughter. "Sorry."

"I don't care," Ryan said, and Brendon laughed and hugged him close, pressing his nose into the join between Ryan's neck and shoulder. Ryan tugged at Brendon's tie, trying to get him to turn his head, get closer, and Brendon did, smiling at Ryan, his eyes dark and warm.

Brendon kissed him again, but Ryan was distracted briefly, eyes still open, to where Z was waving to get his attention, standing a little beyond them now. She held a piece of paper up over her head.

It said, **10!!!!!**

Ryan flipped her off, closed his eyes, and dragged Brendon closer.

  
**The End.**   


**additional notes.**

 **one.**  
Brendon serenades Ryan, in order, with:

1\. [Oh! Darling – The Beatles](http://www.mediafire.com/file/hhd0jlmqujj/04 Oh! Darling.mp3)  
2\. [Birthday – The Beatles](http://www.mediafire.com/file/tg2zzhymmmg/2-01 Birthday.m4a)  
3\. [Desire – Ryan Adams](http://www.mediafire.com/file/3yjogzjt5j3/Desire.mp3)  
4\. [Unchained Melody – The Righteous Brothers](http://www.mediafire.com/file/nm23gk2r0lw/Righteous Brothers - Unchained Melody.mp3)  
5\. [Girlfriend – Avril Lavigne](http://www.mediafire.com/file/gmmzmngzw51/Avril Lavigne - Girlfriend.mp3)

 **two.**  
Z was (I imagine) wrong about the ending of _Unchained_. She was probably mixing it up with _American Psycho_ or something of the sort.

 **three.**  
Ryan skipped his birthday party.

He called Z, and she said, "Come on, Ross, we sorted this, afternoon is boyfriend time, we get the night—"

"I'll make it up to you," Ryan said.

" _Ryan_ ," Z began.

"Yeah, sorry," Ryan said, and hung up, said, " _Go_!" Brendon put his foot to the accelerator and they skidded out of Ryan's driveway and down the road, turning the radio up as loud as it went, singing along loudly and (in Ryan's case) tunelessly.

Brendon pulled onto the road that went through the woods, taking them past Alex's house and out of town, into the dappled dusk that filtered through the leaves. Ryan drummed his hands on the dashboard and reminded Brendon now and again to keep his eyes on the road, no matter how much he liked it when Brendon smiled at him like that.

They turned a corner into a tourist spot that was deserted just now, Monday night on the last day of summer, and Ryan unplugged his seatbelt and then Brendon's, pressing him up against the driver's window to kiss him.

"Hey," Brendon said, warm and low, "c'mon, back, let's go—"

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan said, and broke away to clamber into the back, stretching out along the seats so that Brendon could crawl on top of him, kiss him properly. There was a spring digging into Ryan's back but he didn't care, Brendon rolling his hips lazily against Ryan's, neither of them in a particular hurry. They'd had the day to themselves, and Ryan wasn't planning on going anywhere.

"Hey," Brendon said, and pushed Ryan's hair out of his face, grinning down at him. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you," Ryan said primly, and Brendon laughed.

"Any big plans for the year?" He waggled his eyebrows, and Ryan thought, oh, fuck, oh.

"Hang out with you, I guess," he said, and Brendon didn't smile, just kissed the corner of Ryan's mouth, sweet and chaste. Ryan swallowed and said, "Only, you know. Nicer this time."

"You're pretty nice," Brendon said.

"I wasn't," Ryan whispered.

"It's okay," Brendon said.

"I was stupid," Ryan said. Brendon watched him steadily. Ryan said, "And scared."

"Yeah," Brendon said, like a sigh, soft and warm but not at all tired. He picked up Ryan's hand and pressed it to his chest, and said, "Check it," and Ryan sat quietly with Brendon's weight all on top of him and Brendon's heart racing against his palm.


End file.
